Hope you like the new me

Facebook came along , and life , as I was experiencing it, changed forever .

There was a brief romancing of the past , where I got a chance to find people from my childhood , tell them that I never forgot them ; like the time in eighth grade, when Elyce from my homeroom class , did a report on Madame Butterfly , which went soaring over the heads of everyone,and when my dumbass class mates began to giggle at the rising, operatic warbling that was so foreign to the untrained, t.v. & radio-stained ears of my peers, Elyce turned around, unfazed, and tore us all a new ass , calling us all ignorant , immature & rude , all of which was true.

Except for me , I thought .

I was cultured , or “ cultured-adjacent “ , since I was a bonafide mama’s boy , and my mother , a huge opera buff ,had, in the past , explained to me about great opera singers, and WHY they were great - the story lines in the libretto

( see, I KNEW what a fucking LIBRETTO was ! ) , and though it really was NOT my cup of tea, I knew that opera was IMPORTANT art.

I was on Elyce’s side, at any rate , but mostly because I hated people giggling at her project ( I hate group-think bullying ) , but also because I knew that she was smart, and I REALLY liked smart girls . I thought my mom was really smart, as well as kind , so, I liked girls that I thought my mom would like.

Also, I realized much later, that I REALLY liked Elyce, with her perfect posture, her beautiful, long, dark, straight hair…straight ,like it was brushed a hundred times in one direction , or something, every night, by her mother , like she was a character in a Louisa May Alcott novel, as she wrote poetry by lamplight , out on the Rockleigh, New Jersey prairie somewhere..

I thought she was beautiful, and of course, WAY above my station. She kinda WAS, in that in 1971 , I was just a budding teenage hippie boy from Springsteen’s literal “ swamps of Jersey “,and she was, near as I could tell, a really nice girl, whose family were likely to make sure she got the education she deserved , and that MY family, however noble our intentions might’ve been, was a chaotic, war-damaged pack of good natured barbarians , and not the sort you would want to become entangled with.

Which is why, the summer after eighth grade, I was so enthralled to get a ride from your mother and you while hitchhiking to a friends house the next town over .

I jumped in the the backseat, and immediately cranked the charm up to full throttle, because I felt I owed it to you to show your mother that ; yeah, maybe I WAS baby-hippie white trash, but I was POLITE , and POSITIVE , SINCERE & SMART -Also, I wanted her to have faith in YOUR judgement, since ( and I’m just guessing ) that she stopped to pick me up , because you asked her to . I owed it to this archetypical good girl, to not be an embarrassment, at least to the degree of which I actually had ANY control over.

I really liked Elyce, a lot, it turns out ; I HAD to do right by her.

I expressed my gratitude to your mother & you as I hopped out at the end of the extremely short ride , and I dont remember what was said ; I just remember thinking - “ wow, maybe Elyce LIKES me ! “

I got out of the car, and went off into my life, and she went off into hers.

For around forty years ; then ..

Facebook, broke into the tomb of my history, & summoned the spirits of past loves, regrets, embarrassment & anger, & allowed those who sought the fantasy offering of an imagined , ineffable “closure “ for the past miscalculations , betrayals , or lost loves, that became the architecture of our memories , and I don’t THINK that was my motivation, to “ correct “ something in my past ; I wanted just a tiny allowance, to peek backwards through circuitry & wires & content providers,

Ignore all that shit , & tell someone

A woman , in this case, who , when she & I were just entering into the bloom of our teenage years , affected me, forever, apparently

She was a smart and beautiful and thoughtful girl , and my head was filled with dreams, that were directing me towards what, I still dont really know , and Facebook wont put all this flood of images from the past , present & future, into any kind of meaningful order or context - thats what I spend my days doing now, while I attempt to record all these thoughts, for some unknown audience . Possibly, just myself.

But , uh …Elyce ? Hi …I saw you back in eighth grade-

I was there , in Mr. Thatcher’s class, witnessing

The emergence of a different Butterfly

I saw you reveal your depth, fearlessly,

To a room full of thirteen year old knuckleheads , who were beyond reaching, with your Madame Butterfly , your perfect posture, your long , dark, straight hair ,

Your sly smile , under lovely , but melancholy-looking eyes

I want you to know - that shy girl, taught me to give beauty a chance

To transform us into something , that would understand how to love this brief mortal dance that , we’ve come to make all our mistakes in, before the coming ,

inevitable dark - Elyce , thank you

You are a chaste love - I am better at this life, than I might’ve been, if you hadn’t told your mother to stop, & give that guy a ride-

You may laugh , but I tell you - You, made me feel worthy

& from the vantage point of now

I believe it was the first time that I ever felt that .

Thank you, my beautiful classmate

Here in our present time

With your silver hair & your grandchildren & the womanly wisdom, granted only through pain & loss , & the austere knowing

Of a world that turns away from us every sunrise & sunset, Removing & restoring fragments of our life - every day, and the sunlight, that sits like a cat on the windowsill,

Then slips away into shadows - Elyce , I have strayed …,but I return, again & again

in hopes , the children we are no longer, will find each other & shelter

In our innocence .

I swear - I will guard that simple love forever, &

Forever is all I have left